


Tumblr Prompts: Lockwood & Co.

by lady_mab



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 02:24:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11682078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_mab/pseuds/lady_mab
Summary: Just a collection of prompts I have received on Tumblr! There's various AUs and situations going on in here, and I can't always remember who requested certain prompts. See the start of each section for a short description/the prompt!





	1. Locklyle Post-Case Comfort Cuddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "healthy locklyle post-case comfort cuddles because that was a Rough case"

He found Lucy sitting outside on the bench in the garden, watching as the watery sunrise came up over the wall to wash the overgrown garden in pale yellow-ish light. Her eyes were closed, and the burn on her cheek stood out -- livid red against ashen skin. 

Her eyes fluttered open at his approach, and at least the ghost of her smile was enough to send a wave of warmth through his chest. “You’re awake early?” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t hear me blundering around in the kitchen,” Lockwood said. “I almost dropped the kettle on my foot twice.” 

“Ah, I thought it was a poltergeist that had gotten loose in the house.” 

“And you weren’t worried? Didn’t think to come to our rescue?” 

She shrugged, a half-hearted roll of her shoulders. “I just figured it would bluster about for a bit, break a few glasses, then get bored and peter out.” 

Lockwood snorted and dropped down on the bench beside her. “Good news is: No Poltergeist. Better news is: I was able to make tea without breaking anything.” 

Her smile brightened considerably as he passed over the mug, letting her fingers brush over his deliberately before accepting the gift. “The only thing that would make this better is--” 

“Chocolate biscuits?” He pulled the package out of his bathrobe pocket and placed it on the bench between them. 

Lucy made a soft sound of delight and scooped them up. To Lockwood’s surprise, she scooted over to close the few inches of stone that separated them so their thighs pressed together and she could drop her head on his shoulder. “There. Now this is nice.” 

They sat in silence, each enjoying their tea and the company as they watched the morning dawn. 

Lockwood started to reach for a biscuit, his hand hovering over the package. The moment was perfect in its simplicity, but he remembered how horrified they had been the night before. The flare going off too close, the scream that had followed as he thought that Lucy had been--

Her fingers twined between his, pulling his hand down into her lap as she squeezed it gently. As if she had sensed his thoughts. Head still angled away, looking out towards the far wall, Lucy muttered, “We’re okay.” 

He sighed -- out of exhaustion, out of relief, to simply let the air out of his lungs, he wasn’t entirely too sure -- and let his head fall against hers. He squeezed her hand back. “We are.” 

“We’re a good team.” 

Lockwood studied their hands, at the scars that traced identical patterns of the life of an agent across their thumbs and up their wrists. Of the salt and iron beneath their nails and of the blisters from holding the rapiers. “I’m glad to have you, Luce. I’m glad you’re okay.” 

She huffed a laugh, and he could feel the swell of her cheek against his shoulder as she smiled.


	2. George & Holly discussing reckless Lockwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from ofhauntings: "George and Holly discussing Lockwood’s recent recklessness streak."

Holly had paced a tight line back and forth across the kitchen until her legs could no longer hold her up. Her hair was in a state of disarray, and it was 4am and there had not been any updates since the call that woke her up at 2. She dropped into her chair at the table -- unable to look at Lockwood’s, unable to look at the one that had remained untouched for two months. 

The front door clattered open sometime around 5:15 and Holly jumped to her feet. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her fingers inched towards a rapier that was left casually in the corner of the kitchen, unsure who…

“For the five hundredth time, I’m _fine_ , George.” 

“A second later, Lockwood--” 

“Yes, yes, I got enough of it from Barnes, don’t you start, too.”

Holly remained frozen, hand extended, uncertain, was the two boys stormed into the kitchen. 

Lockwood’s right arm was in a sling, tucked against his chest. His eyes were dark and dangerous, glowing with an otherlight of their own Holly thought, giddy with relief and anger and the dregs of fear. His hair was in a worse state than hers, and ectoplasm burns dotted the empty right sleeve of his jacket. 

George’s cheeks were flushed in sharp contrast to the lack of color in Lockwood’s. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, but his brows furrowed sharply like angry little caterpillars. A tear on his jacket released a soft puff of stuffing that had been ignored. He looked about as awful as Holly felt. 

They both stared at her in stunned silence. 

Surprisingly, George recovered first. “Holly, what are you--” 

Lockwood didn’t let anyone finish. He threw his backpack at the office door, ignoring the salt glittering in its wake. He wasn’t wearing his rapier. “Don’t bother cleaning up, Holly. I’ll do it later this morning,” was all he said as he whirled around and stormed up the stairs towards his room. 

They listened to his footsteps dissolve into muffled thuds on the floor above them. Then Holly sank back into her chair, trembling. She looked up as George shuffled into his spot with a tired sigh. 

“Where have you been?” she whispered at the thinking cloth. “DEPRAC called me three hours ago, saying there had been an accident. And I--” Her voice caught in her throat, and she couldn’t even muster the energy to clear it, to forge on. 

He understood all the same. George plucked off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We thought he had gotten Ghost Touched, but it was only a dislocated shoulder.” 

“Only,” she squeaked, the rest of any complaints jumbling up inside her mouth before she could sort through them. “It was supposed to be a simple case. I would have come with you--” 

“That’s because it was supposed to be simple. Nothing was wrong with the case it was just--” 

There was a slamming door upstairs, followed by angry footsteps, and then the sound of the shower running. 

With a heavy sigh, he put the glasses back on. “Have you really been sitting here for three hours?” 

“I came as soon as they called. I thought that-- I thought maybe someone would be here, or at least an officer to explain what happened.” She ran a hand over her hair, attempting to tame it, attempting to maintain at least some level of order in her life. 

George got up and puttered around the kitchen. Holly wished that he would sit still, but at the same time, she couldn’t blame him. She wanted to start cleaning. She wanted to make some sort of progress, to know that this day will be over and they can go back to normal. 

Well, no. Normal was hard to find these days. Normal left the house in the wee hours of the morning and made no effort to contact them in the intervening months. 

“He got a little overzealous going after the source,” George explained once the kettle was on the burner. Holly cursed herself, not even thinking to make a pot of tea the moment they walked in. “It was up the wall a ways, so he jumped for it and the floorboards broke beneath his feet. Got the source, but jerked his arm out of its socket in the process.” 

She winced, rubbing her own shoulder at the thought. 

Silence descended as tea was made, and George plopped back down onto his chair after depositing a mug in front of her. 

“Can… I ask you a question?” she ventured, uncertain she wanted the answer. A grunt was the only answer given, so she pressed on. “Was it like this… before?” 

He glanced at her from over the rim of his mug. “Before?” 

Holly didn’t know if she could manage the words. Instead, she turned and looked at the spot that used to be occupied by the fourth member of Lockwood and Company.

George grunted again. “No. Even when... “ Apparently he had the same problem she did. It was like being under a curse, and no one could talk about the nature of their cure unless it was in some complicated, roundabout way. “Even when she was still a part of the team, he wasn’t this bad. They balanced each other. It changed when you joined, I think.” 

She bit her tongue on the retort that had been running through her head. She blamed herself enough as it was, had heard others talking to each other about it when she wasn’t supposed to hear, but it was odd to hear someone else say it to her face. 

He seemed to realize what he said a beat later. “Not that I’m saying you’re the cause. I don’t know what the cause is, to be perfectly honest.” He smiled a bit ruefully. 

“No... “ Holly said, pushing away her tea. Her stomach turned at the thought. “They were a stable combination until I came along.” 

George started to reach out, hesitated, then committed to the action of awkwardly patting her hand. “They brought out a side of each other that only they could control around each other. I don’t think he knows how to curb it without her there to be his buffer.” 

Silence descended upon them again as the shower turned off. They listened to the footsteps, less frustrated this time. And then, several nervous heartbeats later, Lockwood bounded down the stairs and wheeled into the kitchen with his normal cheer on his face. He wore slacks and a casual dress-shirt, his arm still hung in a sling, and his hair was wet and unstyled, but it was the normal cheer that he sported when he needed to make a point. 

“I know it’s barely 6am, and I don’t know about you lot, but I’m absolutely famished,” he said. 

Holly’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, but she pushed herself to her feet -- eager for something to do. “I will go stop by Arif’s. I’ll--I’ll do my hair, then I will stop off to get something for breakfast. Will that be alright?” 

“Absolutely splendid, Hols, thanks.” Lockwood scooped up his bag that had been unceremoniously deposited by the door. “Give a boy a hand, George?” 

George exchanged a quick, meaningful look with Holly before draining his mug and levering himself to his feet. He didn’t say anything, but as he walked past, she noticed that he also had Lockwood’s rapier tight in his grip. 

The two disappeared down the stairs into the office, and she sat there for a bit longer -- staring into the open maw of the basement door that had been left open, the trail of salt that vanished inside it, feeling for all the world as if she had been the one who had seen the ghost, and not the two of them.


	3. Lockwood taking care of Lucy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: ""sit still and let me look after you." Lockwood. Lucy. Go."

He had to practically wrestle me down into the chair – and I’m quite certain was one step away from actually tying me down for my own safety. I could still feel the blood trickling from the side of my head. I still don’t know if something had hit me to make me fall or if I tripped over my own feet in my haste and just bashed my skull on a rock. 

Lockwood crouched before me, one hand on either arm of the chair, effectively hemming me in. I tried to push him away, but my grip was too weak. My fingers clenched and strained against the fabric of his shirt – ripped and covered in soot from the fire – but I couldn’t find the purchase I needed to actually shove him. “Lucy…” His voice was taut, strained. Every edge of his face was lined and pale beneath the dark layer of grime. 

“We have to go.” My voice was scratched and hoarse and I coughed. And then the toughing wouldn’t stop, and with it came a wave of dizziness from the loss of blood. “George–" 

"Is _fine_. You know he is. Kipps and the others got him out of there.” His grip was gentle as he reached up and pulled my hands from him. 

Unable to use him as a support, I collapsed back into the chair with a groan. This was a mess. Worse than the mess we normally made. 

My limbs ached from exertion, but every fiber of my being needed to be back on my feet, back in action. My muscles strained, ready to push myself up, but Lockwood’s hands came to rest on my cheeks and my entire body froze. 

“Sit still and let me look after you,” he said, with more force than he normally gave me. His hand lifted to my head and immediately pulled back as I hissed in pain. “C'mon. You’re in no state to do anything but fall flat on your face." 

He was right, and I hated that he was right. I wanted to go find George. I wanted to go find the others that had to be okay – more than anything, they needed to be okay. 

The callouses on his palm brushed over my cheek as he drew his hand back. "Now, can I trust you to stay here if I go to fetch the bandages?" 

It was a rhetorical question. We both knew I couldn’t stand on my feet long enough to go anywhere. But still, I was required to nod, numb, so he knew that I knew.


	4. Angsty Locklyle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "Nightmare with angsty locklyle perhaps?"  
> Anonymous asked: "think u can manage to whip up some angsty locklyle? much obliged to ya"

Lockwood found me in the library, curled up in a chair with my head in my hand and my gaze focused somewhere out of the opaque window – into the inky darkness that the small warm light at the table beside me couldn’t pierce. 

He set a cup down at my elbow and settled into the chair across from me. A moment later, he pulled his chair closer so that our knees were touching. 

I didn’t move. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, to have my suspicious confirmed or denied. A part of me still couldn’t shake off the cold hands of the nightmare that had gripped me. 

“Luce?” His voice was soft, delicate. His fingers lighted upon my knee. “Luce, I heard you moving around. Can’t sleep?" 

I opened my mouth, ready to reply, but a dead sound trickled from my lips and I didn’t want to try again. 

I imagined the way his brow would furrow in response to my lack of effort. Instead of trying again, though, he reached around me to pick up the cup from the table. Then, after a beat, he pressed the warm ceramic into my free hand. He had to hold it in place for fear that I would drop it. "It’s hot chocolate." 

My gaze finally dropped to where the tips of his fingers brushed against the back of my wrist, his palm keeping my hand flush against the mug. "It’s not… that I can’t sleep,” I started. I shifted so I could at least sit upright and grip the mug with both hands. 

Lockwood only adjusted his touch to cover both of my hands with his own. He waited, silent and patient, for me to finish explaining. 

I still hadn’t looked him in the eye. I just let my chin drop to my chest, my dark hair falling into my face so I could keep avoiding him. “I can get to sleep just fine. It’s just… when I sleep I–” My voice did the strange dead sound again and my breath hitched. 

“Nightmares?” he finally asked. I blinked, and then he was on his knees in front of me. My knees were pressed to his chest, and he freed one hand in order to push my hair back behind my ear. 

I nearly dropped the mug from pure shock alone as I suddenly found myself looking into his dark eyes. Dark, and warm, and filled with life. 

I had to remind myself that it had only been a nightmare. Those eyes I had been so afraid of seeing were not real. They were left behind with the fetters of sleep that I had shaken off. 

Lockwood opened his mouth again, but it was his turn for his voice to die in his throat as my hand reached out and touched the edge of his brow. His eyes widened, but he refused to look away so long as I didn’t tear my gaze from his. 

My fingers grazed the ridge of his eyebrows, then traced the line of his jaw from his ear down to his chin. With every inch, I reminded myself _he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive_. 

His breath left his lungs in a soft sigh when my thumb brushed the corner of his mouth as I lifted my hand to sketch the line of his nose. It warmed my hand, more than the mug of hot chocolate did. 

_He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive._

Lockwood made up his mind about something, and once again moved the mug to the table. Then, before I could object or even figure out what he was planning, he crawled into the oversized chair alongside me. 

“Ah, a tighter fit than I anticipated,” he muttered, more to himself than for my benefit as I shifted out of the way. But then his arm curled around my shoulders and pulled me in against his chest. “Good thing neither of us are George then, aye?" 

I appreciated his attempt at humor, though I didn’t have it in me to laugh. Instead, I just curled into his warmth and closed my eyes – just to prove the nightmares wrong. Just to prove to them that he would still be here, and alive, and here, when I opened them again.


	5. Lockwood & Lucy carving a pumpkin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lucewoodship asked: "Can I ask for a happy Locklyle fic cause you can never have too many"

Lockwood gave me a confused look from around the large pumpkin currently stationed in front of him. “You’ve never done pumpkin carving before?” 

“Not really, no.” 

He continued to stare up at me until I started to shift awkwardly under his gaze. It was a bit intimidating as he sat there with his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, an apron on over his shirt, and a carving knife in one hand. 

“It’s not really _that_ strange. It’s not like people can go trick-or-treating.” 

“Well, no,” he admitted, sitting back and placing the knife onto the table. That made me a feel a bit better, and less like he would gut me in the name of spreading Halloween cheer. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t maintain a bit of atmosphere!” 

I put my hands on my hips and frown down at the table. There’s a cheap plastic cover over the thinking cloth, and several plastic bowls arranged in regimented lines alongside two other pumpkins. “We never did anything for Halloween in the past…” I was beginning to think that this, perhaps, had not been his idea.

The only question was… whose idea was it? 

“Oh, good, Lucy, be a darling and give me a hand, would you?” Holly bustled into the kitchen and I jumped to help relieve her of the bags draped over her arms. 

“What is… are these decorations?” Disbelief crept into my voice. It couldn’t have been… out of all people…? 

Something large and pale decided to jump into the kitchen with a loud and unconvincing “BOO!” 

The three of us rolled our eyes at the same time and delivered some exasperated variation of “ _George_.” 

“Can you believe people used to dress like this to be ghosts before the problem?” George pulled his glasses off and then pulled off the sheet from over his head. His mop of hair stuck out at odd angles as he contemplated the sheet. 

Holly made a strained noise as she plastered a smile onto her face. “George, where did you get that sheet?” 

“Oh c’mon, it’s a spare.” 

The pretty smile of hers strained and nearly cracked, but it held steady. “Lucy, can you put the food away please? George has just decided to assign himself cleaning duty.” 

I stood in the middle of a small storm of chaos. At the other side of the table with a happy whistle, Lockwood stuck the knife into the bottom of the pumpkin and began to cut out a rough circle. “Can someone please explain what is going on and how did I miss this conversation?” 

“I’m sorry, the boys were supposed to tell you.” Holly hesitated, halfway through marching George out of the kitchen. “I thought it might be a good idea to host a Haunted House here.” 

I’m pretty sure my jaw dropped but no further explanation was forthcoming as Holly and George left, and the only thing remaining was the vigorous sawing of Lockwood’s knife and their distant bickering. I whirled on the only remaining member of the company. “A Haunted House?!” 

“It’s a splendid idea, isn’t it, Luce?” He smiled, though it was distracted a moment later as he popped off the bottom of the pumpkin. “Ah--can you hand me the towels and one of the empty bowls, please?” 

I did as he asked, then stood at his shoulder and contemplated the shapes of the pumpkins set out before him. The one he currently worked on was tall and narrow, but there was a fairly squat and round one. The third was a graceful oval. Each had a face drawn out in black marker. 

“Are those… supposed to be us?” 

Lockwood’s grin turned sheepish as he commenced scooping out the innards of the pumpkin. “I thought it might be fun.” 

My anger abated slightly as I dropped down in the chair next to him. “You’re going to get pumpkin all over your shirt.” 

He glanced down at the item of clothing. “You think so?” 

I lifted a hand to disguise the sort of amusement. “Yeah, give me a moment and I’ll help out.” I got the groceries put away in short order before dropping into the chair alongside him and scooting closer. “Here, pass it over.” I shrugged out of my coat and rolled up the sleeves of my sweater. “I just got to get all the goop out, right?” 

Lockwood handed over a spoon. “You do that, then, and I’ll separate the seeds from the pulp. We’ll roast them after.” 

It’s not that I’m squeamish. Being an Agent definitely eliminates some of the hesitation when reaching into something. But that didn’t stop me from pulling a face as I reached into the pumpkin to start scooping out the innards. “This is disgusting.” 

“I’ll take back over if you want.” 

“No, I’ve got it. I take it this one is supposed to be you?” 

Lockwood beamed. “Recognized my Jack-o-lantern face?” 

Warmth tickled my ribs but I squashed it down as I grinned back at him. “No, it’s just the narrowest. Just like you.” 

He deflated a bit, picking out the seeds and dropping them into a separate bowl. 

I nudged his foot with my own. “Did you draw all three of them? George and… Holly, I guess?” 

“Are you saying that because the faces look like them or because the pumpkin shapes?” 

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?” I laughed as he nudged his foot back against mine. “Do I get a pumpkin?” 

He focuses a bit too intently on freeing the seeds. “I couldn’t find a pumpkin I liked.” 

I stopped my work, staring at him until he turned innocent eyes toward me. “It’s just a pumpkin, Lockwood.” 

His eyes are bright as he huffs, but it’s not enough to hide the smile that’s threatening. “It’s not _just_ a pumpkin, Lucy. You can come along, alright? And you can see how easy it is to pick just a pumpkin for your Jack-o-lantern debut.” 

I plucked a seed out and flicked it at him. It landed square in the middle of his chest, leaving a faint orange mark on his apron. “Are you saying that just to get out of decorating the house?” 

“If we carve these pumpkins fast enough, do you think Holly will notice if we sneak out?” 

“Probably, but we’ll just have to deal with that when we try to sneak back in with my pumpkin.” 

He laughed and pushed his sleeves up further. “Okay then, let’s gut these pumpkins and get carving!”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feel free to throw prompts in my tumblr ask-box! http://lil-miss-banana.tumblr.com/ask


End file.
